


The grosser points of seduction

by Vimes



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, will eventually become explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-28 00:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimes/pseuds/Vimes
Summary: You’ve been unfortunate enough to be singled out by some Capitol VIP as the next in a line of amusing conquests and see in this your chance to promote yourself from victor’s assistant to rebel spy - the only question being how to ensure you’ll keep his interest.Haymitch has been a mentor for a very long time and, as he puts it himself, has a lot of experience with people trying to screw him out of what little he has. Naturally, this makes him the perfect person to show you the way to a man’s heart, and if that means lessons in slow dancing and having to exchange meaningful, lingering glances, well… that’s just a few more knocks you’ll have to take for the team.TL;DR: Haymitch agrees to teach a guileless reader how to flirt. Slow and cheesy burn with neither party daring to realise the interest is mutual, set vaguely during the tour in Catching Fire.





	1. Orientation

“_Haymitch_.”

“What?” He grinned and slid even further down on the coach, like he was melting into it.

You pulled at the skirt of your dress.

You’d think these clever bastards could invent some clothes that at least stayed in place of their own accord, but they seemed to be masochistically driven to inject the most pointless kinds of discomfort into their lives. Look at me! I’m much too elegant ever to twist an ankle and that’s why I walk on stilts. Look at my waistline. Breathing is so plebeian, wouldn’t you say?

But Haymitch looked comfortable no matter what, he flaunted that he could get away with stubble and cotton shirts and laughed whenever he caught you correcting your make up or searching for your clutch. He had no solidarity. Sure, this was better than your duties back home, but humanity has an endless capacity for finding faults.

“You look great, princess. I’m sure your young gentleman will be smitten.”

“Oh, so it _doesn’t_ look like a circus tent?”

“It does, but he’s a clown, so he’ll want to get in there.” Haymitch eyed you through his fringe and lifted his dainty cup of espresso to his lips. “Me? I’m not as cultured as these people. I like to see a bit of skin peeking out, helps to get the, uh... imagination going.”

“Well, then I’m glad. I’ve seen what you’re like when someone’s caught your attention.”

“I’m a pig, I know.” With a deep sigh, he put his empty cup aside, pulled himself up out of his seat and lumbered over. His hands, steady now as the day crept towards its close, came to rest warm and heavy on your shoulders and through all those layers of fabric, he probably couldn’t spot how your breath caught in your throat. “So’s he, even if he’s not as honest about it as I am. Make him work for it. Don’t let him get physical, not yet. Remind him you’re not for sale.”

“I am for sale.”

Haymitch smiled and there was no mirth in it. “Well. He’ll want to think it’s not like that.”

“Right. I’ll remember.”

You swallowed and kept staring straight at him, wild eyed and suddenly cold and clammy. “I’m not right for this job, Haymitch. I want to go back to scrubbing floors.”

One hand lifted and he moved as if to lift up your chin. For all his misanthropy, he got familiar with people rather quickly. Then he thought better of it, squeezed your other shoulder and let his arms fall to his sides. “He chose you. Just make the best of it.”

“Right.” You breathed deep and did better on the second try. “Right. Eye contact. Tits and teeth. Touch his arm.”

“And remember, everything he says is clever and funny. All men want to believe that.” Haymitch put an unnatural force into his words as he walked back to the couch, signalling that your time was up. “Go get him, princess - if nothing else, you’ll get some good grub out of it.”

This was, supposedly, the first date.

It didn’t work like that back home, people didn’t go out to dinner together (for one, there usually wasn’t any to be had), they didn’t make long, intricate rituals out of courtship because you needed to grab what good you could in life or risk losing your chance. Not that they rutted in the streets, like people around here seemed to believe - it was just that people got to know each other naturally and weren’t so inclined to mince words or lie about their intentions. The word date felt appropriate here because it had no romantic meaning for you to spoil.

A young man in the Capitol, spoiled for choice by his own good looks and by being the second oldest son in an impressive family, had spotted you at one of the endless banquets you escorted the team to. That he’d asked you to accompany him to a show, instead of trying to drag you along to some broom closet somewhere, you knew was meant partly as a joke. Not that his attraction to you wasn’t genuine, but the idea of dressing up a poor provincial girl (he was too condescending to admit you were a woman) as if she was a real person and actually bringing her out in public where people could see the two of you together, that was just too funny. I can’t believe he did that! Oh, she doesn’t know which glass is for what drink - how droll.

But, crucially, he was the son of a general. The goal was to keep him coming back for more and to convince him that the quickest way to a girl’s heart was leaking military secrets or whatever else he might have to offer. Like Haymitch said, you wouldn’t be the first person to kneel for the greater good... the way he emptied his flask after that comment and stared into empty space made it even less funny.

Peeta was the only one still in the common areas when you came back, and he just met your eye, set his jaw tight and went back to building a skewed tower out of the incomprehensible decorative statuettes on the coffee table. You were sure he hadn’t forgiven Haymitch for encouraging this scheme, or you for being so pragmatic about preparing for it. Even though you slipped quietly out of your heels and padded into the apartment looking as relaxed as you could manage, the tower came down in a crash and Peeta stormed off in the opposite direction. You’d think he’d be more comfortable with intrigue and theatre by now but whatever the reason for his grim look, it was his problem, not yours.

You cleared your throat and forced your legs to keep moving. Up until a week ago you’d been a member of the team, valued and liked well enough, but in no way indispensable or universally fascinating. Haymitch had appreciated your cynicism, Effie liked what she viewed as a can-do attitude and your quiet ways around her and the golden couple were as open with you as they were with anyone (ie, not at all when they could help it) and wonderfully uncomfortable with having assistants. The rest of the crew were happy as long as you didn’t get underfoot. Now you had been given the opportunity to contribute beyond running errands, someone important had selected you and suddenly everyone had to reevaluate you.

If ever you’d daydreamed of being at the center of attention, this would never have been the way. The flavours of a thousand rare foods stuffed with other rare foods pressed back up towards your mouth and the heat from that packed concert hall had seemed to stick to your skin all the way home. You needed something real. And before that, a shower and a change of clothes.

Even with your ear pressed to his door you could hear nothing and that made you pause. Was Haymitch passed out on the floor, at this hour? If he was, you’d be doing him a favour by barging in...

But your knock got a response eventually: a quiet, irritable “yeah?” and then a slow shuffle coming nearer. The door slid aside and Haymitch glared down at you, bleary in the light of the hallway and looking even worse for wear than was usual. As compensation for the bags under his eyes, he was only wearing shorts and a worn t-shirt. You didn’t look down. You definitely didn’t look down.

“And here I thought I’d had a bad night.” You forced a smile. He was standing awfully close and the Capitol standards of hygiene must be catching up with him, too - that was a strong cologne. 

“Actually, missy, I was asleep, but thanks for the judgement. You know I can’t get enough of it.”

“You were asleep? It’s only just past midnight.”

Haymitch looked sour but stepped aside and you followed him back into his pigsty of an apartment. The door closed behind you and automatically locked. The air was a little stale, but not bad. He kicked a pile of clothes without bothering to check whether it made it all the way underneath the armchair. “I’m a changed man, living healthy now. Ate a vegetable while you were out.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” He fell into one of the chairs, put his bare feet up on the table and didn’t object when you sat down opposite him. “It’s the first time I’ve closed my eyes in 30 something hours and all my ‘hard work’’s finally caught up with me. That what you want to hear?”

But your mind was somewhere else and Haymitch’s expression softened, at last. “Need a drink?”

“Yes please.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He feigned getting up but you were faster on your feet and grabbed a bottle from the cabinet at random. Two tumblers - he was too kind to let you drink alone. You sat, poured out one large helping and one small and pushed the small across the glass in his direction. Haymitch lifted it with a sarcastic “oh, thanks” and helped himself to half.

When you’d swallowed down the burn and forced yourself to look back up at him, he was still watching you.

“That bad, huh?”

Well, he had asked. “It was fine. I mean... I think he almost wanted it to be humiliating, me being ignorant and overwhelmed... I can’t tell.”

“Oh, those rich pricks know just how to make us squirm.”

“I surprised him a couple of times. Made things a little uncomfortable.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a smart move.”

“I don’t know, I think it was - he obviously thinks I’m stupid so I figure if I show him I’m not, that might make him interested beyond just...”

Haymitch was still looking at you, you could feel it.

“Well...” he finally said and knocked back the rest of his drink, “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t.” You leaned in towards him. “Haymitch, I don’t know what I’m doing - if you hadn’t pointed it out to me I wouldn’t even had known he was watching me.”

Something about this seemed to have amused him but he said nothing, so you pressed on. “when I say I can’t do this, I don’t mean I won’t... I just not good at being... seductive. I don’t know how.”

“That, uh... that’s hard to believe, princess. Sorry.”

“Fine.” You poured yourself another glass and refused to speak again.

Haymitch shook his head after a pause and either chuckled or coughed. “A real life blushing violet, huh? That’s cute. Guess it’d explain things...”

He was laughing at you. Not literally, but internally, you just knew it. “No, you ass. I’m just used to people coming out and saying it. I’ve never had to work for it. Or wanted to.”

“Well! It’s lucky for some.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean you don’t know how to play the game.” His eyes glittered in the low light.

“Yeah. I mean no. I don’t.”

Haymitch pursed his lips, leaned in closer with his elbows on his knees and tilted his head to one side. “And... what. You’re asking me to teach you?”

That... no. What? You had to muster all your strength to keep breathing. That’s not... you’d only come here to complain, maybe hoping for him to give you another terrible pep talk or, better yet, an out. After a second, you forced yourself to meet his gaze again and he was grinning now, that grin that made absolutely everyone want to slap him.

“...Could you?”

“Could I?” Haymitch pressed his hand to where he thought his heart was. “Sweetheart, you wound me.”

That made you laugh, more from nerves than anything.

“Now,” he went on, “I’m not saying I’m a master of seduction; I mean, you’ve seen my attempts.”

Waitresses and Capitol glitterati alike. Effie. A peacekeeper, once, and her response had left him limping for a week. Generally, things didn’t go his way, at least not where anyone could see it. “But I’ve been seduced plenty, both successfully and, once or twice, unsuccessfully...” Haymitch must have misread your expression because he raised his eyebrows and said “yeah, laugh all you want but I was quite the looker in my day. And being a people person and a man’s man, what I’m saying is, I know what works, and not just on myself, either.”

You swallowed. Seemed a pity to keep doing that with nothing to swallow, so you had yourself another drink. Either it was strong stuff or your head was swimming for some other reason. Of course, you could be in luck. It could be both.

“You’re saying I should experiment on you.”

“I’m saying that I would submit, reluctantly, to you throwing yourself at me, over and over again. And give you pointers, of course.”

Oh, his pointers... he liked to pretend his mentorship style was all intentional, that he was cutting and perpetually underwhelmed to inspire his charges to prove him wrong, get them nice and angry so they’d forget to be scared. Having Haymitch laugh at you when you finally had a chance to be even a little honest...

Your pulse beat hard, you could feel it at your navel, insistent and hot. On the other hand, it’d be an excuse, a wonderful excuse to spend time with him, get close to him, touch him now and then and make it all into a harmless joke. And all the while, he’d teach you just how to get to him so that maybe, if you learned fast...

“Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It took a moment before Haymitch spoke again and his grin hadn’t faded. Then he shook his head, poured you both another drink and lifted his glass high. “Well then. Here’s to playing the game.”


	2. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little taste this time while my muse is elsewhere

Haymitch was at his worst, on a scale of all bad, in the mornings. The closer you had gotten to the Capitol the more forceful everyone had gotten about dragging him out of bed and now, here, he actually usually padded to the breakfast table in various states of undress before everyone else had cleared it. This morning you watched him on his way in. Today’s ensemble was a beautiful, dark blue robe (god knew where he’d gotten it from - it was not his size), stained, creased and hanging open over a bare chest and a pair of pyjama pants you wouldn’t have deigned to repurpose as cleaning rags. Katniss greeted him and got no reply. He lifted one of the many lids on the buffet table, caught a whiff of what was underneath and practically changed colours. The metallic clatter of the lid coming back down made him wince - obviously he’d kept the party going well after you’d left.

“Oh! You’re joining us at last,” Effie trilled in her patented indoors voice and pulled her hat off of the chair two seats over just in time before he crashed down into it. “Good morning, Haymitch.”

“No,” explained Haymitch, picked up a fork and started taking out his mood on his sparsely populated plate.

Well, he was unbalanced, so that was a good start. You eyed him while you ate and chatted.

Haymitch wasn’t a catch, you knew that. He was at least ten years your senior, had nothing to give in general and, if you did ever get him into bed, would probably have even less to give there. At least, that’s what logic told you. So, what was it then?

Well, for one, despite what he pretended to think he was still a looker, in a rugged, crooked, kind of greasy way. He didn’t give a shit, he had nothing to prove and nothing to lose. He hated himself, but he was smug, too. That shit eating grin, that leering look, that swagger he had sometimes when he could be bothered... you just couldn’t shake the feeling that it all amounted to something, that he’d be an animal in the sack. Filthy, up for anything, too realistic to expect anything more than what he got given in the moment, too careless to let vanity get in the way of giving you what you wanted.

And he hadn’t lost all fire or all his skills. These kids had inspired him come back to his ruthless, clever, caring-despite-himself self. Maybe you could do the same for his inner sleaze - after all, that was barely buried in the first place. And... alcohol was a preservative, right?

When Haymitch reached across the table for the salt, his robe pulled apart a little wider and you took the opportunity to take a good, long peek at his torso. Not too shabby. You cleared your throat. Your muse had arrived - it was time to get to work.

“I thought the gyms were only intended for the tributes.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “They wouldn’t be much use if us mentors didn’t tag along to show the kids how it’s done, would they?”

“I’ll say.” Now he did look up, bemused, and you held his gaze. “And do you ever let them have a go, too? Or do you spend the whole time showing off.”

Haymitch didn’t catch your drift until you nodded meaningfully at his bare chest and for a second, he actually looked a little flustered and moved as if to close his robe. Then his face split into a grin and he wagged his finger at you. “Hah! Good play, sweetheart. Not entirely plausible, but good play.”

You grinned sheepishly back at him. Katniss, who’d looked on as lost as the others, cut in. “What are you talking about?”

“Our little socialite here’s asked me to teach her how to trick General Jr. into spilling all his guts.”

“Oh, please,” said Effie. “I don’t want to hear any more about your horrible scheme - I find it all to be in very bad taste.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s mercenary.”

“Sorry, Effie.” You shook your head, trying to dislodge your smile. “I promise I won’t stroke Haymitch’s ego in your presence again.”

Haymitch waggled his eyebrows. “Now that I know it’s on, I’ll insist on private lessons only.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have ADHD! I mention this straight away as a warning because I've learned the hard way that excitement and motivation seem to mean nothing - my chances of completing anything are completely up to fate.


End file.
